


And Then You Take The House

by Keiko Kirin (sakana17)



Category: Ocean's 11 (2001)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-03
Updated: 2005-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 18:11:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakana17/pseuds/Keiko%20Kirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before they can go forward with Danny's plan, Danny and Rusty have some unsettled business from the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Then You Take The House

**Author's Note:**

> Written for X and Dorinda. Many many thanks to Dorinda and Thevetia.

It had almost happened in San Francisco, which Danny had always thought was ironically appropriate.

They'd just pulled off their biggest scam yet, and it had gone as smooth as a leather wallet sliding out of the breast pocket of a satin-lined jacket. Flawless as the ball on a roulette wheel, circling, circling until it found its mark. It was beauty, the way they worked together: moved together, anticipated each other, fell into a rhythm that was the most natural Danny had ever felt. Danny had always considered turning to solo work one day -- they were bound to break up, break the rhythm, sometime -- no honor among thieves -- but at the moment he didn't want to think about that. This, _this_, filled his head with dreams, or hints of dreams: bigger jobs, bigger marks, bigger scores. And the rightness of this rhythm.

Rusty was bright-eyed and restless, a slight dazed smile on his lips, as they calmly rode the elevator down from the penthouse. He shared a glance with Danny, pausing between bubble-gum chews. "Man," he said softly when they strolled out of the lobby and onto the bright, city-night street.

"Yep," Danny agreed, sliding his hands into his pockets. And savoring the high of the score, they walked back to the Best Western at Fisherman's Wharf. There, sitting by the shiny window in Danny's room, they touched their glasses in a silent toast. Danny could see how restless Rusty still was: aglow, beautifully alive -- success sat well with him, cranked up his sexiness.

Danny took a slow drink of scotch and thought it was interesting that he didn't think it was strange to be thinking about Rusty being sexy. It was just something he noticed -- details like observing a mark: watching his hands, his eyes, his walk, how he licked his lips, how he smiled, how he dealt a hand, what he wore and how he wore it. Details. Rusty was sexy: it was another detail.

Rusty watched him and sipped his scotch. They were watching each other -- like mutual marks, Danny thought -- and there was something attractive, compelling, alluring about Rusty's sexiness. Made sense. Sexiness was... sexy. And amused by his revelatory insight, Danny leaned closer, glass in hand, to fall under the spell a little more.

Rusty slid forward in a single perfect motion of controlled languor. "Man," he said again, voice soft and rough at the same time. "I wanna get laid."

Danny didn't move. His heartbeat sped up, he wondered if Rusty could see his pupils dilate in this low light, and he asked himself rhetorically, _can we do this?_ Rusty slumped lower, was nearly out of the chair. His knees touched Danny's: the warm slinky shift of slacks rubbing slacks rubbing skin. It was all in Rusty's eyes: they could do this, here and now, high and crazy on the score, and it would be really, _really_ good.

But for reasons he didn't examine until it was far too late, Danny pulled back, took a drink, and shook his head. "It'll draw too much attention to go out on the town."

Rusty finished his scotch in one swallow, smirked and said, "Didn't mention going out on the town." He rose -- another perfect fluid lazy motion -- and went back to his own room. And they left it at that.

Although Danny couldn't quite forget it, try as he might, which wasn't trying as hard as he could've tried. And somehow the question always shifted around from _Why did we almost?_ to _Why didn't we?_ But it wasn't until he was in stir that he thought about the reasons why they wouldn't, when he wasn't conning his way out of becoming someone's wife or playing Model Prisoner Ocean. The list of reasons went something like this: One, the whole sexual identity thing. Two, it would have ruined a perfectly good working relationship. Three, maybe it _wouldn't_ have ruined a perfectly good working relationship. Four, it might have meant more than just good sex with a good cohort. Five, Tess. As lists went, short and dishonestly simple, but at least he had a list.

\-----

They'd almost done it in Louisville, which was the only good thing Rusty could say about Louisville. After unloading that truckload of slightly defective video equipment and saying good-bye to Livingston, who was too wary to stick around, they'd gone back to the nearly deserted Holiday Inn. Danny had griped about the lack of a hotel bar, but the real source of his agitation was the fact that they'd almost fucked up the job, severely almost fucked it up. Rusty didn't have anything to say to that: they'd almost fucked it up, but it was over, time to move on. It wasn't the end of the world. Though he agreed that the lack of a hotel bar sucked.

It was late summer, late night, about a hundred degrees and ninety percent humidity. The smell of chlorine wafted tantalizingly from the outdoor pool behind its faux medieval iron barred gate. A minute later Rusty had climbed over the gate and was tossing his clothes onto plastic chairs chained to the lampposts. Three minutes later he was skinny-dipping in the unpleasantly warm water and Danny was standing by the pool, fists on hips, saying drily, "You don't know where that water has been."

Rusty plunged under the water, shimmied to the far end and back, and when he broke the surface, Danny was sitting on the edge, pants rolled up, bare feet dangling in the pool. The way the yellow lamps lit him, he gleamed: sweaty, tired, dark, and handsome. Danny pulled at the knot of his tie until it hung loose and unbuttoned his shirt. He leaned back on his elbows and half-heartedly kicked water at Rusty. Rusty swam away, but twenty feet across the pool wasn't far enough to get away from the image of Danny, rumpled and inviting. Yeah, that's what it was: _inviting_. And that Danny could set such a trap without apparently being aware of it fascinated Rusty. The best con was the natural con, and here was Danny, and right now he could sell the Brooklyn Bridge, and he wasn't even trying.

Rusty swam back and stared up at Danny -- was his hair going gray? -- and indulged one of his urges: he reached up, grabbed Danny by his belt-buckle, and hauled him into the pool. Danny grappled with him under the water, trying to shove his way to the surface. They came up about a yard apart, Danny paddling in place and looking caught between rage and laughter. Rusty had just decided the risk was worth it -- that if you couldn't fool around with your best partner in a deserted pool in the middle of the night, you might as well give up -- when bills started floating out of Danny's jacket. Twenties. Fifties. Hundreds.

"Shit," they said simultaneously.

Danny got out of the pool, heavy and dripping, sat on the edge and leaned over to reach for the bills that floated past while Rusty grabbed at all of them he could and dove after the ones that were sinking. "Shit," Rusty said again, out of the pool, shoving globs of wet money into Danny's jacket pockets. Danny's clothes clung to him in wet rolls and wrinkles, and the temptation to cop a feel was strong, but under the circumstances Rusty thought it wiser to resist. Even when Danny started laughing and patting him on the shoulder.

"God, I need a drink," Danny said, picking up his shoes and tossing them over the gate before he climbed over after them. He didn't wait for Rusty to follow him, but the next morning, there he was in Rusty's hotel room, holding a plate of toast and jam in one hand and a small orange juice in the other. Rusty could almost forgive him for waking him up at the ungodly hour of ten o'clock.

"You know the way to a man's heart," Rusty said, sitting up in bed and taking the toast.

"We have an appointment."

"What appointment?"

Danny handed him the orange juice and walked to the window. He pulled back the curtains and let the hazy summer sunlight flood the room. Rusty winced and spread jam over the toast with his finger.

"A man with a horse," Danny said airily, smiling his smug on-the-game smile.

Rusty sucked strawberry jam off his finger. "What man and what horse?"

"Man I met at the bar last night," said Danny. "His horse. Nice guy, has a horse farm nearby..." His eyes gleamed, and Rusty forgave him the sudden lunacy of starting a new job, literally before the last one was dry.

"The Cincinnati Bedsprings?"

"With a touch of the Union Station." Danny beamed and folded his arms over his chest.

Rusty chewed his toast and rubbed a stubbly jaw. "Yeah," he said slowly. "A two-man job, yeah."

Danny lightly slapped Rusty's bare shoulder. "Get moving. I want to get a new suit."

They both got new suits, Rusty ignoring Danny's sartorial advice -- Danny could make cheap suits look good, what did he know? -- and they pulled into the farm's gated drive on time. The mark gave them a generous Southern welcome, the charm poured off Danny so thick you could bottle it, and everything was off to a wonderful beginning. Until the leggy redhead Rusty had taken for the trophy wife smiled and presented her hand to Danny and said, "I'm Tess."

\-----

Here they were, and damn, it was good to see Rusty again. Danny barely took notice of the actor-brats around him -- they talked too much and it was all white noise -- because Rusty was there, looking surprised. Slinky and shiny and sexy and staring at Danny like he was a stack of hundred dollar bills, a free bottle of scotch, a ticket to Rio, all rolled into one.

Danny's memories skipped back to San Francisco. _Do you remember?_ he wondered, his gaze never leaving Rusty, whose gaze never left him. _Yeah, you remember_. And they slid back into the game together so naturally, with that perfect rhythm, the brats never saw it coming. Briefly, as they walked outside together in the mellow L.A. night, Danny thought how they could just keep going. They could live like this, live comfortably, never too greedy and never too emotional. Drift in and out of each other's lives, making bigger piles of cash each time. It was tempting.

But not as tempting as Danny's current plan.

Rusty thought he was crazy, of course. Danny wouldn't deny the craziness, but it was gratifying to see that Rusty was immediately on board. No hesitation. Eyes lighting up like Danny had just answered his prayers. There were a thousand details to work out, but with Rusty in, they'd work them out.

Reuben first. Danny had already come up with Reuben, now Rusty came up with him, too. Affirming that Reuben was the natural choice. The rest would come, like a dealer laying out face cards one by one. Right now the heady excitement and intoxicating anticipation of starting the job worked their restorative powers. Right now was just the two of them: Rusty and Danny, and Danny wanted to savor the moment.

Rusty said, "If we start tonight, we can be at Reuben's for lunch."

"We'll start tonight," said Danny.

Brief stop to return the plans, and then they were on the road, Rusty driving. The night was clear and cool, and after the last stop-light Rusty lowered the convertible's top. Danny glanced at him, grateful for the southern California light pollution that let him see Rusty so clearly. He looked exactly the same. Hair a little shorter, maybe. That flashy ring was new. Other than that: same Rusty, same spark, same restlessness beneath the calm exterior. Same sexiness.

Danny slid closer on the vinyl seat and entertained the crazy idea of running his hand up Rusty's thigh just to see what would happen. He played the angles in his mind: Rusty yelping and running them off the road, Rusty laughing and telling him to fuck off, Rusty moving his thigh under Danny's hand, Rusty pressing into his palm and getting hard under tight smooth fabric. He dwelled on that possibility for a while, keeping warm in the cool night, until he noticed Rusty's sidelong glance.

"You look horny," Rusty told him.

_Christ_. If he hadn't already been, he sure would be now, the way Rusty had said it so matter-of-factly, slightly amused. Danny licked his lips and considered saying, "I am," but before he could say anything, Rusty had turned his head and looked him over. Rusty gave a brief, throaty chuckle and shook his head.

"Hell, Danny, we don't even have the money yet." His gaze went back to the road.

Before Danny could stop himself he was saying, "I wasn't thinking about the money."

A pause.

"Oh," Rusty said with mild surprise.

Another pause. Danny watched the uniform white lines on the asphalt disappear under the car's headlights, his mind and heart racing and all of his pulse concentrated in his crotch.

"Oh-h-h," Rusty said again, comprehending. A briefer pause than the others. "I know a decent motel about twenty miles from here. It's across the highway from an IHOP."

\-----

Twenty miles had never seemed so far. A motel desk clerk had never seemed so slow. A motel key-card had never seemed to jam on red so persistently. Then, at last, they were inside a bland room with a pool view and two queen beds and a mirrored closet door that faced the bathroom. Rusty went to the window to draw the curtains, and the pool below reminded him of Louisville and Danny grappling with him in the water as bills floated out of Danny's jacket. His pulse raced -- a surge of energy and eagerness -- and pulling off his shirt he turned around as Danny switched on a light.

Rusty appreciatively watched him bend down to fold back the bedcovers: Danny had a great ass. It was one of the first things he'd noticed about Danny, all those years ago, although in a more disinterested way as he'd taken stock of this Mr. Ocean who'd switched games on him mid-stream. Charming, professional, attractive in an odd way. Had nice swift hands, a pleasantly mellow and persuasive voice, and a great ass. Rusty wondered if he'd ever-- Plenty of time to figure that out later. He stripped down to nothing while Danny was still unfastening his cuffs.

Danny paused, hands on his belt, and looked up. "You always had that tattoo?"

"What? You didn't notice?"

"Not that one. _That_ one."

"That's not a tattoo, that's a birthmark." Rusty got on the bed, sitting up on his knees, and edged closer. "You need help with that belt or what?"

Danny unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers and let them fall to his ankles. His boring fake-designer underwear was brand new. He plucked at the buttons of his shirt, suddenly not looking at Rusty. "What's the rush?"

"Not a rush. Impatience. It's a completely different thing," Rusty said, watching his hands; Danny's fingers were steady, no tell-tale tremors. Damn, he was good. "You were the one getting hard in the car," he said reasonably as Danny laid out his shirt and undershirt on the other bed. Danny slipped out of his undershorts -- they had to get him better undershorts -- and stood there.

"This is ridiculous," he said with a little laugh. He sat down on the other bed.

Rusty let his restlessness cool. He sat back on the bed and leaned against a pillow. "Yeah, I know. We haven't even--" He smiled.

"Yeah." Danny smiled back, got up and moved to sit on the bed beside him. "Still..." he said, looking into Rusty's eyes with that absolute, unwavering, you-are-the-center-of-the-world stare that made marks hand over their nest-eggs. Rusty's restlessness returned.

"Still," Rusty agreed, reaching to run his fingertips through the graying hair at Danny's temples.

\-----

What surprised Danny wasn't the force of it -- the collision of bodies, the rough strength -- it was the tenderness that went with it. He hadn't expected that. But then, he also hadn't expected Rusty to be so confidently in control, and he hadn't expected that he'd find that unbelievably sexy in and of itself. Nor had he expected Rusty to grab his ass and not let go.

He had no idea what they were going to do, but it felt great anyway. They moved together -- perfect rhythm and impeccable timing, as always -- sometimes pushing, sometimes sliding, sometimes pounding. And it was all great, made him feel strong and alive and desired. But they also kissed, and Rusty, since he wouldn't let go of Danny's ass, caressed him with his lips or his cheek or his jaw. And Danny kissed him back, loved finding the places he could kiss that made Rusty move and push and slide again. And that was the tenderness part, and that was mind-blowing.

They were side-by-side. Rusty hooked a leg over Danny's and rolled them so Rusty was under him. He caressed Danny's throat with his lips, rubbed Danny's ass with his hands, and shifted his other leg so that Danny was caught between his thighs.

Danny raised up a little, running his hands down Rusty's arms, and said, "I'm on top?" He smiled. It was a joke. Probably.

And in reply Rusty stared at him -- one of those long, lazy, dreamy looks that suggested sex, nothing but sex, sex in all its forms: cards, dice, shiny clothes, shiny cars, stacks of money. He gave Danny's ass a slow, rolling, kneading squeeze that sent a shiver up Danny's spine.

"I'm on top?" Danny asked again, breathier, and licked his lips. Less a joke, more curiosity.

And Rusty moved his thighs, holding Danny with his legs, drawing them back, and thrust against him. He was aglow and eager and shining with sweat. Strong and coiled as if about to spring, and his tattoo rippled over the shadowed outlines of his tensed muscles.

"I'm on top," Danny said, pulse pounding and his mind losing focus as his body shuddered from the expectation.

In reply Rusty stared at him, heavy-lidded, and his fingers slid over Danny's ass, slipped to touch him easily, gently before Rusty thrust again.

"Oh," Danny said in a short cracking half-syllable. The shuddering didn't stop. He gripped Rusty's shoulders and pressed his head to the curve of Rusty's neck as he came and felt Rusty come with him. Then the shudders slowed and he melted into Rusty's arms, floated with him for a while before Rusty let him go and he rolled off onto his back.

Shoulder-to-shoulder they rested. Danny caught his breath. Rusty made the slightest, quietest, sexiest laugh. "I can't believe we finally did this," Rusty said.

"We should've done this back in--"

"Louisville," said Rusty as Danny said, "San Francisco."

Danny propped up on his elbows. "Louisville?" he asked as Rusty said, "San Francisco?"

"Yeah. Don't you remember in the hotel that night? You said you wanted to get laid."

Rusty raised his eyebrows. "I was speaking generally, not specifically."

"Louisville?" Danny asked again.

"You remember: the pool. I pulled you in."

"What I remember was that the chlorine ruined my best suit. Besides, Louisville was where I met--"

"Yeah."

\-----

It was interesting to see Danny like this: relaxed but buzzed, wandering off-topic, completely flirtatious in an open, let's-go-back-and-screw kind of way. Even after their biggest scores Danny had never been like this. He wasn't just charming and compelling in the usual Danny Ocean way: he made Rusty want to hold onto him, stick close, and not let go.

They were sitting across from each other in a booth in the IHOP across the highway. It was some dead hour of the early morning when truckers were getting dinner and one round, pink family with complaining, sleepy kids was getting breakfast. Rusty and Danny were having coffee and Danny was stealing bites from Rusty's waffles.

"Like I was saying," Danny said, "we lay out the whole thing to Reuben as a blind. No names. Let him think we're nuts, then he'll--" He stopped and gazed at Rusty with a hungry and intense _I want sex_ stare.

"What?" Rusty said.

"You have syrup on your chin," Danny said in a peculiarly devout tone of voice. "Right here." He reached over to rub it off but Rusty raised his hand and wiped his chin before he could. He licked the syrup from his fingers, and Danny sat back and watched him in such a way -- satisfied smile, obscenely suggestive eyes -- that going back to the motel room seemed far more important than finishing the waffles.

Wait. No. He had to focus, even if Danny wasn't.

"You were saying," he prompted, but Danny didn't answer. Danny sipped his coffee and glanced out the window where the sun was now sitting above the horizon. Rusty tried to remember the last time he'd slept. That comfortable post-coital doze with his arm and leg draped over Danny didn't count, did it?

Rusty drank his coffee. Focus. The facts of the matter were that he and Danny had just had sex -- quite good sex -- and clearly Danny wanted some more (not that Rusty was averse to that idea), and Danny had a plan for robbing three casinos in Las Vegas in one night. Which was why they were on their way to Las Vegas, when they stopped here. At the motel. To have sex.

This wasn't focusing.

"Want me to drive?" Danny asked, interrupting his thoughts, and for a moment all Rusty could think of was Danny on top of him, asking if he was on top. Danny, dark and drenched with sweat and wonderfully hard, gliding with him in a natural, perfect motion. _Oh, yeah, I want you to drive. Then I want to turn you over and--_

Focus. "Like I'd let you behind the wheel of my car."

Danny cut off a wedge of waffle with the edge of his fork and popped it in his mouth. He watched Rusty while he chewed. Smiling a little. Rusty sat there, coffee cup half raised, and neither spoke until Rusty set down his coffee and said loudly to a passing waitress, "Check, please."

Back across the highway, into the dull, ugly room, and Rusty stretched out naked on the bed and in the mirror's reflection he watched Danny shaving over the bathroom sink, wearing only his sad, brand new undershorts.

"We have to go shopping later," Rusty said, mostly to himself because Danny was running water, rinsing out the disposable razor. Louder, Rusty said, "You don't have to do that."

Danny turned off the faucet and came out wiping his chin with a handtowel. "Yes, I do," he said seriously, and his eyes seemed to look inward for a moment before he was back in full lust mode, taking off his underwear and sliding into bed.

But that moment had been enough to nudge Rusty's thoughts back in a direction he'd been trying to avoid: there was something else going on with Danny. Something he hadn't shared yet. Something about prison? Maybe. Maybe his certainty that Danny had somehow managed to avoid a lock-up wedding night was wrong, but it sure hadn't seemed that way earlier. And that nudged his thoughts back to where he really didn't want them to go: Tess. That the something else going on with Danny was about Tess.

He had nothing against Tess, really. Liked her fine. But. Tess-and-Danny? Tess-and-Danny was a problem. It was clear (to Rusty, anyway) that Tess-and-Danny didn't work so well. Not as well as, for instance, Rusty-and-Danny. Not that he was jealous. No. It wasn't jealousy to watch your best partner begin to trip on his own shoelaces because he was trying to be the kind of guy who'd marry a woman like Tess. He'd decided Tess-and-Danny was a problem long before he'd ever entertained thoughts of fucking Danny through the mattress. Tess-and-Danny had gotten them into the Incan matrimonial head-masks game; the Incan matrimonial head-masks had gotten Danny sent to the New Jersey State Penitentiary.

Danny slipped his hand up Rusty's back and rested it on his neck and kissed behind his ear, scattering Rusty's thoughts like poker chips in a fast, heavy game. Rusty sank to the mattress, kissing Danny, silently griping to himself, even though he actually didn't care, that he was going to let Danny be on top again. With that strange tenderness they had with each other, they necked. Made out. Whatever the kids were calling it these days. Just kissed and felt each other up before they fell asleep wrapped up in each other and a tangle of blankets.

When they woke up, the sun was setting, and Rusty calculated that they had time for dinner and shopping for some new clothes before they reached Las Vegas in time for lunch with Reuben. They had time to be a little lazy. They had time to enjoy each other before whatever it was Danny was holding back descended into their lives. They had time, and with Danny sprawled out next to him, looking rumpled, content, focused, and sexy as hell, Rusty decided to take it slow and he gave Danny a long, incredibly satisfying blow job before they went to dinner.

\-----

Danny hadn't felt this calm and confident -- himself again, his old self -- since before prison. Being with Rusty, all that old rhythm had come back. And that list he'd made? Reasons why they wouldn't have sex? Dumb list. Dumb reasons. It was great sex, but great in ways he hadn't expected and couldn't have anticipated.

Before, he'd felt anxious, like they had to get it on, get it over with. Not now. He was relaxed, easy. Rusty was with him again. It wasn't over, and didn't have to be over. They were always going to fall back into that perfect stride. Together, they were always going to win.

The only doubt he had left was about Tess, but that was an old doubt, one he'd lived with for years. Tess was the life he wanted, or at least some part of him wanted, and the more he saw that life drifting away from him, the more he scrambled for it. He couldn't imagine stopping: that would be admitting defeat, and defeat was not a style suited to Danny. Rusty had seen him in defeat only once, and only briefly, and Danny didn't want to relive that moment of Rusty's thorough disappointment in him. It'd been four years, yet Rusty had still spoken of that Incan matrimonial head-mask thing with a touch of contempt.

Danny leaned back in the car, so close to Rusty their shoulders nearly touched, and enjoyed the morning sun lighting the sky above them and enjoyed the professional, successful feel of his new clothes -- Rusty had been so right about the underwear. Danny glanced at Rusty, who also looked calm and confident and maybe a little smug. The acceptable, even attractive, smugness of a guy who's sexy without thinking about it, a guy who gives great head and knows it, a guy with an expert touch who can cop a feel while you're paying the cashier at IHOP. Danny supposed he should think seriously about how this might complicate his life, complicate his soon-to-be-restored (he had every faith) marriage, but he couldn't focus on complications. He had other things to think about: finding a crew, pulling off a crazy job he couldn't attempt without Rusty, and the sex they'd have the next time they were alone together.

Suburban, then semi-urban sprawl began to appear next to the highway. Rusty gave him a cool, suggestive look and shifted his chewing gum from one side of his mouth to the other in a slow rolling motion that he damn well knew would remind Danny of something else. Danny laughed. Outside the car loomed a tall, glittering sign: _Welcome to Las Vegas_.

(the end)


End file.
